


Pain Fuels My Anger, Anger Fuels My Strength

by hunenka



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunenka/pseuds/hunenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bad guys try all they can to make John talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain Fuels My Anger, Anger Fuels My Strength

**Pain Fuels My Anger, Anger Fuels My Strength**  
Author: hunenka  
Rating: explicit  
Warnings: non-con, torture, language  
Summary: The bad guys try all they can to make John talk.  
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis doesn’t belong to me.

\------------------

They don’t even bother asking questions anymore after the first hour or so. Two of them are holding him down on his knees, occasionally helping him up when a too strong blow sends him sprawling to the ground.

At first, they asked where his team went, telling him that if he gave them the address, he’d get one last chance to see his friends.

They tell him his team won’t come for him, and they laugh.

John knows they’re wrong.

They kick him in the ribs until he hears something crack. They punch him so hard his vision’s blurry and his head is spinning.

He doesn’t tell them a thing, well, except for the occasional“Fuck you” or “Go to Hell”. He can taste blood in his mouth, and he can feel more blood trickling down from his right temple. His ribs hurt like hell every time he takes a breath and he can’t feel the fingers of his left hand.

They shout at him, angry that he still refuses to give up. They hate it that his posture’s lost nothing of its defiance, even though he’s a bloody mess, one eye swollen almost shut, and he can barely keep himself upright. He doesn’t look one step closer to breaking than he did when it all started.

“What does it take to break you?” Asks their burly leader incredulously.

John starts laughing, and it’s a dark, dangerous laugh, and he can’t stop laughing even as more blows rain upon his defenceless body. “You have no idea,” he drawls finally, voice low and raspy and breathless. “You can quit trying now and spare yourself the effort.”

“I don’t think so,” Burly growls, and John can see that now he’s really pissed the man off. He always had the great talent of pissing off his enemies, so really, this was inevitable.

Burly orders his men to raise John to his feet, which they do none too gently, and then he’s dragged over to a wooden table. They smash his face into the hard wood and tie his hands behind his back. He tries to get up, but the strong hands pushing him into the table have no problem keeping him down.

Then there are more hands, going to his waist, going to the front of his pants. John freezes for a moment - _Oh God, no..._ \- and then starts fighting again; he fights the intrusive hands with all that he’s got, but they just laugh at his futile resistance. He’s too weak now.

His pants are pulled down and the offensive hands are touching bare flesh now. He shudders. “Don’t touch me.”

An amused chuckle, John thinks it’s Burly’s voice. “So he _is_ scared of something!” The hand creeps its way between his legs. “This can stop now. Just tell me what I want to know.”

John doesn’t hesitate, his answer simple. “No.”

Another chuckle, and his legs are being kicked apart as far as they can go with his pants still around his knees. “There are many men here. Maybe you’ll change your mind in the process.”

John takes a deep breath. _Don’t panic. Don’t panic._ “No.”

The sound of a zipper being undone. Then the feel of a thick, long erection pressing against him. _This is gonna hurt._ John grits his teeth and braces himself for the pain.

It hurts much worse than he expected, and John screams, blinking back the tears. He can hear the others laughing, but their voices seem distant to him. All he can hear clearly are the grunts of the man driving into him.

It goes on for a while and then the man behind him suddenly stops and pulls out. John hopes it’s over, but then Burly just says, “Turn him over, I wanna see his face.”

The men do as they’re told, so now he’s lying on his back, his bound arms under him, crushed by his dead weight. Someone is pulling his pants off completely and then Burly is hovering over him again, eyes full of hatred and lust, grinning. John can see his own blood on the man’s cock.

Burly laughs and positions himself between John’s legs. “Ready for more?”

Despite the pain and humiliation, John just can’t help it. He holds his tormentor’s gaze. “Do your worst.”

Burly drives into him again, big hands gripping John’s narrow waist, leaving bruises.

The other men are standing around the table, laughing at John’s misery, jeering, calling him a whore. They are talking about what they’ll do to him when it’s their turn.

Tears of pain are staining John’s face, but he doesn’t cry out. He’s silent.

He doesn’t close his eyes, doesn’t try to act like this isn’t happening, like he isn’t there.  
Most of the time he keeps his eyes locked on Burly, watching him almost calmly. He listens to every word the men say. He studies their faces, memorizing them. He wants to remember.

He hopes his team will come for him soon, but not too soon. He doesn’t want them to see this. He doesn’t want their pity.

And he wants to kill those men himself.

Inside, John smiles.

THE END


End file.
